


Meeting You

by lobelialore



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Implied Relationships, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:01:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobelialore/pseuds/lobelialore
Summary: Doctor Emily Grey and Colonel Sarge meet face to face for the first time. Hints at a growing relationship between the two and a building level of trust.This might continue into something more!





	

“Are you ready?”

Dr. Emily Grey held her breath as she considered both the question and the man in standard issue red before her.  The distance between the two was carefully measured--a whopping seven feet that spanned the entire space.  

Three feet of that space was her own personal requirement.  It was, in her estimate, the exact amount she required to account for reading body language and her own reaction time to danger.  The reading was a helpful skillset considering she had spent most of her recent years learning those in the New Republic by the dents and scratches of their armor.   

The other four feet was the requirement of Sarge.  A peculiar but not unpleasant man who she had been meeting with in secret since the war had ended.  She had never questioned his need for the four feet and he had never questioned the need for hers.  It was simply an understood requirement that both were happy to offer. 

This did, however, make conversation awkward and there was still his question that required an answer.  She took a step and then a second, watching for the telltale signs of approval which could come in the form of a grunt, a nod, or steady silence.  It was silence this time, permission to close the gap to a more socially acceptable distance.   

He had once called her a firecracker.  She had taken offense, demanding in a sugary sweet threat of a tone for the logic.  He had replied that she was bright, loud, and full of surprises--and that she could take a man’s hand off before he knew what hit him.  That was a definition she could get behind.

It was true that many of their early bonding sessions revolved around sharing the _many_ ways the two knew how to take a man apart.  He seemed rather impressed with her abilities, the key of which was keeping the “patient” alive and conscious during questioning.   

Since then the topic of conversation expanded infinitely.  He had told her about his time in Blood Gulch and about his “boys” and she had shared her own stories about the long and bloody civil war that they had only caught the end of.  It was never too personal from either side but it was more than either had shared with anyone else.  

Perhaps it was because of that divide that his question still hung in the air.   _ Was  _ she ready for the next step?  Was he?  

Lately the two had been spending more time together.  Each time they made their escape their excuses grew more flimsy.  She had told her “assistant” DuFrense that the generator had gone down and she had was going to fix it, leaving before he could deliver his response.  Sarge had done even worse, muttering the words “Generator.  Busted,” among his usual grumblings.  Grif and Simmons didn’t acknowledge it but their heads were together to talk as soon as he had turned to leave.

And so here they were.  Standing still, eyes locked visor to visor.  He took a step closer, placing his shotgun on the boxes of supplies that framed them.  

The question still hung heavy in the air and she finally exhaled.  “I am.  Are you?”

His gaze did not linger from hers but he squared up as if he were getting ready to engage the enemy.  His hands raised to his helmet.  Slow.  Methodical. With purpose.  If he was afraid his movements did not betray him.  

“Stop,” she said, her words cutting through the tension.  “Let me go first.”

His hands lowered, a gruff chuckle to release his own nerves.  “Alright, Missy.”

There it was, the nickname he had given her from their days when their interactions mostly involved her telling him where to place the equipment.  It was amazing how such a simple thing could calm her nerves.  

This time her own hands rose to her helmet.  To many a suit of armor was to protect the body.  It was standard during the war to wear it even on base.  But to her it was so much more, a safety net to allow her to guard her emotions and mind from the atrocities that never seemed to stop.  

Very few people had ever seen her without it on and now she would be adding another to that short list.  She supposed it was best to think of it as one big, bullet stopping bandaid.  With a quick jerk, she removed her helmet.  The fresh air hit her face and at once she felt exposed but the usual fear and vulnerable were missing.  She felt calm. 

As she lowered her helmet his own movement caught her eye.  In a single gesture he removed his own helmet, resting it under his arm.  

    Their eyes met and they smiled.  Silence hung in the air as all of their reservations melted away.  He cleared his throat.

“Good ta meet ya, Doctor Grey.”

“Its nice to meet you too, Sarge.”  


End file.
